


The Last Divine Dragon

by StolenVampires



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Decendants of Students, F/M, Fishing, Grown up Flayn, Happy Ending, I certainly dont, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions Of Past Characters, Modern Era, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PS its going to be a coffee shop/flower shop AU too because im basic like that, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Regret, Seteth will herd 2 kittens per request, Slice of Life, Strangers to Lovers, Will I put smut in this?, adapting to modern life, who knows - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-25 21:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20731040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StolenVampires/pseuds/StolenVampires
Summary: leaving Garreg Mach had been a tough, but much needed decision. He and Flayn couldn't stay forever, and they risked being exposed. So long they slept, never joining back to the world they left behind- until finally they did. Cars replaced horses. Poverty all but gone. Letters that could be sent with small devices. Grand buildings and spires that soaked up sunlight and the last relics were behind glass boxes and crests were all but run out with bloodlines so diluted or outright gone.Seteth remakes his life as he'd done once before, but Flayn is now a woman in her own remark, wanting to be free in this new world. There is no one left who knows the truths of it all. Of Zanado, of Serios, Sothis, of the wars that changed the history of mankind. He's alone in his knowledge.Or so he thinks.Because, just out of sight, unknowing to each other's existence, Byleth smiles for customers, wondering if perhaps it is better to pretend to be a human. Or perhaps, they should become what they have denied they are for last thousand odd years.





	1. A Modern Age

To say ‘out of an era’ wasn’t too far off the mark. When you aged far too slowly for humans to even begin to notice, time was a sort of humble thing, that never really mattered in the grand scheme of your life. Things changed, but the rate which you measured change was in centuries, not years. As such, looking at the once holy sanctum of Garreg Mach Seteth felt a melancholy he didn’t often endure.

The Holy Tomb, now open to the public for viewing, placards placed over each ‘saint’s’ final resting place. Sans their Crest Stones of course. Those were very much secreted away. 

It was now over a thousand years since the tomb had once been sealed away, stormed in an attempted coup from the Empire. The same Empire that now was forgotten to history. Fódlan was now one nation of people, and the war that had ended much of the rule of the Church of Serios had given rise to a unified people who had prospered under the ‘Holy Kingdom of Faerghus’- which eventually became simply known as Fódlan as other nations more firmly defined their own borders and diplomacy improved. 

Now, relics of the era were house in places like these- Museums. The Monastery restored and maintained by a small group of powerless faithful who simply kept watch and maintained a place that had fallen to the wayside in the face of the ever changing tides of history and humankind.  
Seeing it again, under such a different view than that of the Arch-Bishop’s aid was jarring and rather sad affair. But, Flayn had said seeing it again might do him some good in becoming more acclimated to the new modern world they found themselves in.

With Rhea having stepped down, and Byleth taking over- Seteth and Flayn left. Too long had they lingered there, and the longer they stayed, the more people would question. The more people would notice. Green hair and eyes like their own were too particular. And a few more attentive students, (Lindhart in particular), had noticed things that others never bothered to look at- Like their ears and inhuman healing and strength. 

Sleeping, waking, checking on the world, then sleeping again. It was second nature. How many changes would they wake to next? How long would they sleep before their bodies would demand they wake for whatever reason? 

Seteth walked back up to the main church’s hall, noting the postcards and various trinkets that were offered at the gift shop by the entrance. His next stop were the saint statues. Noting how well kept all four were. The originals, noted the placard, from an unknown date, but the most authentic source that modern people had for the mysterious four warriors who’d fought with the Saint Serios, whos image had been mostly lost to time.

Seteth smiled when a father and daughter took their photo in front of the statues of Cichol and Cethleann, re-enacting the poses. He had is own camera and debated taking a picture for Flayn but ultimately decided against it. Less attention drawn to his likeness to the statue the better. Besides, Assal was safe at home in it’s box- hopefully for the rest of his life- and what good would the pose be if he didn’t have it in hand? 

But looking at the faces of his brothers- He sighed. From what he’d managed to find out, Indech had never left his home- of his beast form. Now, he ‘slept’, a ‘national treasure’, protected behind fences and laws so none would describe his ‘slumber’. Yet when he and Flayn had snuck in to see him they both had wept. Indech hadn’t responded. His sleep would not abate. His time had been his own choosing, and likely, he’d chosen this fate- to become a relic of history. Flowers upon the lake shore, Seteth had wished they’d had a chance to say goodbye- but the man had said as much hadn’t he so many long years ago? Seteth and Flayn were better suited to the world of men. 

Macuil was worse off- His refusal to work with humans eventually led to his own ruin. Claude who had once challenged him and won, putting the feathered deity to rest for several years eventually led a force to kill the once proud man- who had taken to mercilessly killing various human settlements. His bones now were on display in a museum somewhere in southern Almyra, ironically enough in direct contridiction of Claude’s wishes at the time, having apparently issued a monument to the ‘great beast’ so it might know a peaceful rest.  
It was a very noble, and Claude, thing to do. Even if it didn’t last.

Green eyes looked at the final statue.  
They didn’t linger. Flayn was no doubt working or at the beach trying her hand at fishing. It was odd to think a place as far as the beach that once would have taken days of travel now only took a few scant hours. Modern humans really had advanced so much.  
“Excuse me, can I just-”  
“Oh, sorry.” He moved away for the photographer, noting their bright hair and the tattoo on their hand. Brigid- it was nice, noting that some cultural traditions didn’t fail the test of time.

As he walked toward the entrance, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz once, then a second time. Text messages from Flayn no doubt. He’d answer them shortly. It seemed wrong to pull it out here, a place that had once been used for worship and worship alone.

At the gift shop he bought a small postcard to commemorate the trip, and with a sad but small self-indulgent purchase, a tiny keychain of a plastic ball with the crest of flames embedded in the red and purple material. Perhaps a reminder of the one he nor Flayn could find. If they had died- no book could say definitely. They had chosen to venture the world after the war and the kingdom and Church had stabilized- shortly after he and Flayn had left as well. Yet no records could be found of their death. No records of their return.  
A year of searching, a year of dead end- he and Flayn accepted the loss. Perhaps it was for the best. Byleth bore the powers of the Goddess, and the less people knew the better. The fact was in this new age, such power would be hunted ruthlessly, and no doubt sought to be abused. That aspect of humans had not changed so much.

He bought Flayn a small letter opened in the shape of her beloved staff. He hoped she liked it. 

Her smile when he returned home, a simple meal of steamed fish and vegetables told him she did. Her texts had been simple enough.  
‘Its okay if it is a bit overwhelming.’  
‘It was for me too.’

He didn’t tell Flayn how on the drive back, he’d pulled off the side of the road and wept softly, wishing he could turn back time, if just to have the chance to say goodbye.


	2. Of Tea and Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Seteth muses over minute yet noticeable changes, reflecting on the past and the future ahead of him.

“Tall peach iced tea, no sweetener for.. Seteth?” The Barista called out his order, and barely looking up from his writing, the green haired man lifted his hand and the barista replied to his motion with a “It’s here for you sir!” Before they went back to crafting other drinks for the rest of the cafe. 

It was a rather warm autumn morning, not quite feeling like the season had set in yet as the air did not have the usual damp or chill that was the precursor to winter. It was a good time of the year, a time he thought of fondly as harvest was upon them and the snowfall was yet to settle over much of Fodlan- though now with central heating and mass food production, the ails of the past were a bit far flung from modern seasonal detriments. Now, Seteth only heard people gripe over ice-slick roads and having to come into work in freezing rains. No one ever really liked the cold, and he was no exception, his coat draped over the faux leather chair as he absentmindedly pushed the pen against his lower lip. 

He was in the middle of a new attempt at writing, and seeking to find a good hook for the story that lingered on the fringe of his thoughts. Once, writing was a luxury hobby, publishing your work an easy process if you had connections and coin, and you were almost guaranteed an audience. But printing presses, which had just begun to be more used when he’d gone to rest last were now used on a commercial scale, and with the advent of the digital medium and age, information was at the touch of a button. It went without saying that while his works long ago were now regarded as classical children’s books, he had found that now… he would need to refocus his efforts in his literary pursuits.   
That is, write more than simple children’s books.

Sighing, the last sentence not quite flowing like he wanted it to, he sat up, cracked his neck and walked over to the waiting drink. Slightly bitter, the leaves low quality and slightly scalded- it was still tea. But it was not like the tea he knew. He’d tried whole leaf, single source, heirloom blends- nothing matched the flavors that had once danced on his tongue. It was an aspect he forgot occured when you slept. Flavors changed, sometimes drastically. The sweet-apple blend he liked back then was now only synthetic. The chamomile he used to make for Flayn was not as mellow, and it had a strange aftertaste too it. At the very least, he could admit, tea was a lot cheaper than it used to be.

Relatively speaking when he calculated the value of gold to today’s estimated market value. 

Drink in hand he sat back down, looking at the notebook with half written words and hastily jotted down notes scattered through. He could use a computer. He owned one now, it was nearly required in this modern age, but he couldn’t use it. Not really. He missed the scratch and pull of a quill on parchment. The drag it had on the rough paper. The ‘artists notebook’ had the closest texture and the inkwell pen he had helped give something like that feeling, but it, like the tea, didn’t quite match up. He’d get used to it eventually, of course, but it was a transition. Everything was. Plus he liked the feeling of filling up a book- on the laptop, there was no physical item to hold to show his progress. Just a lot of scrolling, (though he’d admit, he did like the built in auto-correct most of the time).

Closing his eyes as he drank, he tried to find that hook again- a hook to capture his audience.. But who was his audience anymore? Back then, he’d wanted to write stories to help children understand the failings of prejudice and fear. Teach them how even humble folk could be heroes. Let them discover the world though words and illustrations. 

He frowned. Brenadetta’s drawings would have been a wonderful asset these days. It was a pity that in the end she’d given up her arts and none of her descendants had pursued the craft. Ignatz’s line however… he’d been happy in that discovery. The boy, no, the man’s work was now housed in fine art galleries and museums across the continent and even overseas. He was an artistic icon. Which was also slightly amusing when one thought of his Patron. Lorenz one would think would have many a portrait done, but rather, he’d simple had Ignatz paint what the man wanted. A testament perhaps to both their growths. These days Ignatz’s descendants ran an art school- founded, (also ironically), by Lorenz as well. Who’s descendants were… scattered. The proud noble line had been left behind, and the Gloucester crest not having manifest in many years to the point it was one of the ‘seven extinct’. 

Which was in part, a main reason for keeping his and Flayn’s name unchanged. It was ‘in vogue’ some odd years ago to be named after a descendant who’s crest you bore, and seen in somewhat bad taste to do so if you weren’t of that bloodline. Crests no longer held the same weight now- but they did hold a stigma.   
Edelgard would have been pleased to know while her plot ultimately failed in her lifetime- eventually, the crest system had fallen, and they were seen as relics. Powerful perhaps once, but now from what his research had uncovered, almost every crest bearer in the modern age had only minor crests, and even those with major crests could barely manifest an ounce of the might the hero’s relic held. 

He scoffed openly into the air of the cafe, frowning as he glared at his half written plot. To much reminiscing. Too much reflection on the past. 

He needed to stop this from happening. He needed to move on. Come to terms. He had a home. A job. He had everything he needed to live a normal life, unnoticed and unremarkable. All the gold he had saved had granted him that luxury. He and Flayn no longer had to worry about Those Who Slither in the Dark. Their order had been ousted years ago, and branded as zealots and madmen. Children of the Goddess were legends, myths, and the only ones who knew of them… were gone.  
All for the best really.  
He closed his notebook, getting up and walked into the cooling autumn air.   
It was all for the best.

His phone rang and on the other line, her voice rang above what he could only assume was the din of company.  
“Brother-” He regret they still could not risk being known as father and child. She’d grown too much while he? He’d barely aged at all. Their once blessing now a curse. They were made to be among their kind, not humans after all.   
“-and I’ll be home later tonight.”   
“Very well.” He half heard her, and for a beat, there was silence on the other end.  
“Brother.” Concern laced her tone and he involuntarily frowned. She was always keen to his mood. “Please, try. I know it can be hard but… please try? For me?” They both knew he struggled in his own way. She was younger, and still very much a youth at heart. But they both struggled in their own ways. Her, in trying to navigate a world where she was a woman who time forgot, and he, a father who had to let his child go in a world he couldn’t trust.   
Both, trying to find a place they belonged in a world not made, not meant, for them.

A tiny sound left him, almost a scoff but not quite.   
“Alright Flayn.” He resigned himself to his melancholy. “I’ll try.”  
“Thank you.” He could see her in his mind’s eye, smiling. “Now, remember, I’ll be back late tonight, so don’t wait up for me.” His mouth opened to protest- he wanted to eat with her. But he closed it just as quick. He had to let her go. Let her find her own path.  
“Be safe.” It was all he could say. To say more would drive her away, make her rebel as she was more prone to do now. To say less and she would worry he was upset with her.  
“I will.”

He stopped at the corner of the sidewalk, a moment setting into him.  
“Flayn.” His voice a bit louder, she was still on the line. “I love you.”  
A beat.  
“I know.” The click and low hum of the call ending. He looked at the red do not walk sign. As it changed to green, he held back the urge to call her, to tell her he didn’t mean to sound so parental but he didn’t.

It was all for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If wondering, Byleth will show up a few chapters in, because the first few are setting the scene and context which the fic will build off of. I've also chosen to interpret the timeline as the end of the Blue Lions route where the students all survived, (exception Hubert and Edelgard for obvious reasons). This fic is half serious, with actual plot, half slice of life where its just Seteth trying to adapt; so if there is a scene you think would fit into that please feel free to drop a line. <3


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